My Teacher, My Child?
by JungleCat
Summary: A small woman, new to the immortal game finds her way under the wing of Duncan Mcloud. But if she's so young, how does Methos know her? What terrible past do they share? New chapter up! Please review me!Is anyone even reading this?
1. Default Chapter

Gwen glared defiantly at Duncan. How did she manage to get stuck with this meathead who thought he knew everything. She sighed to herself then and realized it wasn't that he thought he knew everything; it was that he thought she knew nothing. That would be true if she were who she was claiming to be. She'd never had as attentive a teacher before, one so concerned for her safety and training. It wasn't his fault she was lying to him.  
  
"Anne. please, you need to learn how to do this. Your young, an easy target. Once you know how to get by on the sword, then we can start working on something a little more elaborate. Right now I just want you able to defend yourself if something happens to me." Pleaded Duncan.  
  
Gwen rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in defeat. He wouldn't even let her 'learn' on her preferred weapons!  
  
"Fine. but it's to heavy for me! I'm to small!"  
  
"I know. We'll get you something better soon I promise. For now this is all we have to work with, I'm sorry Anne. I know this is hard and new to you. It'll be alright, I promise."  
  
He was trying so hard. How was it all he ever managed to do was bug her? That's right, he's the caring, overprotective father figure.  
  
They both turned their heads to the elevator at the tingling feeling of an approaching immortal. The grate rose and Methos was leaning against the wall, his eyes fell on Gwen as they always did.  
  
"Afternoon children," he said in that condescending manner of his.  
  
"Methos, something the matter?" asked Duncan.  
  
"No nothing at all, just stopped by on my way back to Joe's. He wants me to lug boxes for him, I'm avoiding it."  
  
"I'm going downstairs to train." Said Gwen shortly.  
  
Without waiting for a reply from either male, she walked past Methos and into the lift he'd just exited.  
  
"Hey, Wait up Gwen." Called Methos.  
  
Gwen stopped and turned to face him with her large somber brown eyes. Those eyes hadn't changed on bit in the thousands of years since he had seen them last.  
  
"What do you want Methos?" she ask with no patience for him.  
  
"I wanted to know. That night in the desert, you didn't kill me. Why?" he was looking at his feet.  
  
She looked up into his eyes and frowned. He was quite a bit taller than she was and she was still the one in power here. He was truly afraid of what she'd say.  
  
"I don't suppose you'd believe its because I like your eyes?" she said sarcastically.  
  
"You're a hard woman Gwen, you could have killed me. why didn't you."  
  
She growled softly, not liking the way he was looming over her. She stepped into him, invading his space and reaching up to take his chin in her hand, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"I drove you across Europe, from my country to Britannia's door. I was using you to create a civilization that wouldn't need me to protect them anymore. A walled village is still a match for four immortals. I was only half way across Europe when I caught you. I wasn't finished with you yet." Her eyes were sparkling devilishly.  
  
"You. you used us?" he grated out through clenched teeth.  
  
"Don't you have the audacity to be offended Methos, you betrayed me, everything I ever taught you. You walked away from the light, so I used you to build a fire."  
  
With that she turned and walked out the dojo door and into the night. Methos sank to the floor, his head cradled in his hands. Of all his past demons, she was the worst, because she was the best. The best immortal to ever walk the earth, the best teacher there had ever been, the best lover he'd ever known.  
  
She was right, he had turned his back on the light, and she had been strong enough to turn her back on love. He'd never hated himself more than at that moment, he no longer cursed her for that night in the desert so long ago. the night she could have finished it.  
  
  
  
Some thousands of years ago. in Bronze Age central Europe  
  
There was the thundering of hooves and villagers screamed, running this way and that trying to escape the inescapable. Men, Woman and Children all fell before their swords. They were indiscriminate, inhuman, and immortal. Huts burnt to ash, and what ever was of value and not tied down was taken. Whole countryside's laid to waste by four men on horseback. The horsemen of the apocalypse.  
  
But wherever they went, she followed behind them. Dogged their heels, sometimes even turning up in front of them. She organized villages with walls, warriors to protect them and trained them to kill.  
  
Somewhere along the line she began leading raids on the riders. Nothing huge, but it built the confidence of her villagers across the continent. The riders could be attacked; part of what you'd lost could be reclaimed. It was a start.  
  
Then there was the one night, the one out of all the others; she could have finished it, forever.  
  
She crept through his camp accompanied by a group of twelve warriors from her latest village. That sickening feeling of an approaching immortal roused Methos. He knew who it was and what she was here for. She was here to finish it.  
  
He reached out and pulled his sword free, sliding out of his tent, he would face her on even ground and die with honor. He held no illusions about beating his diminutive teacher. She was ruthless in the pursuit of justice and he was her quarry now.  
  
He looked up to see his brothers, they were fleeing! Running with their tales between their legs like frightened dogs. Well Methos would not run. He had brought her wrath down on himself, he deserved this.  
  
He could sense her, but she was staying out of sight, no doubt ushering her little human friends out of the way of their battle.  
  
"Hello Lover," came her smooth sultry voice from behind him  
  
He spun to face her and growled low in his throat. She was exactly the same as she always had been. A hard woman. She died at fourteen but at fourteen she had been an adult.  
  
"Gwendolyn," he muttered, "You've come a long way from home. Is it just to kill me?"  
  
"Course not Methos, that'd imply your worth something."  
  
She began to circle, slowly at first, her two butterfly knives poised to strike. Methos hefted his broad sword, knowing full well when she chose to attack; he wouldn't even have time to swing it.  
  
"You look good Gwendolyn," he commented quietly.  
  
Without a word she darted in her knives flying. Before the pain could even register, Methos midsection was laid open and his insides came tumbling out into the sand. He howled in pain and slumped to his knees, dropping his sword as he tried to press his guts back through the gaping wound where they belonged.  
  
Gwendolyn circled him warily, her knives at the ready.  
  
"Now Methos. you've been very bad, and I really should kill you for what you've done."  
  
Methos was incapable of answering her as he toppled backwards into the sand of the desert, his hands still clutching his innards. Within moments he had lost consciousness, believing his fate sealed, he would never again see terror in the eyes of a victim.  
  
The morning saw a bleary eyed and death confused Methos rise, coughing and spluttering out of the desert sands. He felt his stomach, it was tender and he could feel the sand still inside him that had been pulled in along with his entrails. His eyes rose to the rising sun he searched the horizon for his brothers, they were nowhere in sight. He pulled himself to his feet and groaned at the pain in his head and his gut. She'd left him alive. his brothers were gone and he had no way of knowing which way to the nearest people that might take him in. He faced starvation over and over again until he found someone who would help him.  
  
Damn her. she wanted to torture him.  
  
  
  
Now  
  
Methos groaned again, the pain of the following months remembered and replayed behind his ancient eyes. He had died a dozen times before he found help, and he had never found his brothers again though he chased their legend across Europe. They continued to kill and destroy believing him dead. In a way she had spared him the century of being hounded while she finished her work. Was it a mercy or simply the way things turned out? He wasn't a brave enough man to ask her.  
  
"Methos? What are you doing on my floor?" asked a perplexed and slightly annoyed Duncan from behind him.  
  
"Well it's been a while since the floor and I had a heart to heart. Thought I'd catch up." Mumbled the older immortal.  
  
Duncan grunted and walked to the door poking his head out into the night and growling softly to himself. The girl was insufferable. New to the game and her weapon and she still insisted on running off on her own whenever she felt like it. The girl really did have a death wish, foolish child.  
  
"Anne has run off again, did you see her leave?"  
  
"Yeah." mumbled Methos under his breath.  
  
"And you didn't try to stop her???"  
  
"Stopping G. Anne is not usually an option. Girl has a mind of her own." He said, getting to his feet.  
  
"What is it your not telling me Methos? You know something I don't I can feel it."  
  
"I know all sorts of things you don't. Comes with being older.'  
  
Duncan grumbled and stormed off into the night to bring back his wayward charge. She was going to get herself killed if she didn't learn to stay inside. He really did dislike headstrong youngsters.  
  
Methos watched him go, a grin forming on his face. Duncan had no idea how much he was annoying the girl. But then, he had no idea of her age either. He wondered idly if Gwen would ever confess to her multiple deaths and surrender all she knows to her newest teacher. He wondered if she had ever told any of her other teachers about herself, who she really was. He wouldn't betray her, not again.  
  
  
  
Gwen sighed, it wasn't that she disliked Duncan McLeod; she was in fact rather fond of him. Not to mention that hard Scottish body of his. The problem was, he was smothering her. She'd never had a teacher like him before. He taught from the old school, the way she had, like a parent guiding a child through adolescence.  
  
Trouble was, it had been a long time since Gwen needed that kind of help and guidance. She was old enough to give it to him, not to mention offer some of those answers he was so desperate for, that she knew they were ALL were desperate for. Where they came from. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Gwendolyn!" called Methos to the darkness at the docks.  
  
"How did you know I'd be here Beloved?" she asked, the endearment sarcastic and almost painful on her tongue.  
  
"I know you love the ocean, I thought you'd come here seeing the Scottish Boy Scout has been driving you mad."  
  
"The man is insufferable!" she growled.  
  
"If you wanted a teacher who wouldn't care, you shouldn't have come to MacLeod. He really is a chivalrous and over protective bastard."  
  
Gwen stared out over the water recalling again the first time she'd ever seen the ocean. How vast and frightening it had seemed to her. Now it stood as her representation of herself, of time. It stretched out in a vastness that most could no comprehend, the sheer distances and volume of it. It was like that with her and time.  
  
"What is it you want Methos?" she asked short temperedly.  
  
"Forgiveness…" he said softly.  
  
Gwen turned to look at him with blazing brown eyes and he regretted his weak and pitiful entreaty. That was never the way to win with her.  
  
"Forgiveness beloved? For what? For abandoning me perhaps? For forsaking the vows we took together and running off. Or are you after forgiveness for the countless thousands you put in their graves as I chased you across our world?" she had moved in closer to him, invading his space with her presence.  
  
Tears pricked and Methos' eyes but he would not cry them. He was five thousand years old and he was beyond grief, beyond remorse and regrets. Or so he chose to tell himself. Maybe it was just that there was little he could do today that would hold a candle to the evils he had wrought so long ago.  
  
"For everything." He answered quietly.  
  
"Well you're shit out of luck." She stated.  
  
The profanity on her lips struck him severely. Whatever else she may have been, Gwen had always been a lady. A woman.  
  
"All those people you killed, they could grant you forgiveness, they might when you finally join them. It might even be that the Goddess we swore to will forgive you your transgressions. But I will not."  
  
With that her back was once again to him and he was struck by how alone that simple action made him feel. Her back towards him, at least while she was chasing him, he knew he had her attention. Now he was deemed unworthy of her sight, of the depth of her eyes and the wisdom. God the things she knew… Methos turned slowly and began making his way back to Mac's.  
  
"I loved you." Slight and soft as a summer breeze but it was there. He hadn't imagined it.  
  
"I loved you too, believe it or not." He said softly not turning around; he didn't have to, to know she was looking at him.  
  
"Why did you do it?" was that fear, or simply regret?  
  
"Because I was young. Because I was stupid and because I was angry. I needed very much to be a man on my own, but I wasn't. You were the moon and the sun to those people."  
  
He heard her soft and self mocking laugh behind him and was oh so tempted to turn, to look at her face for some traces of the forgiveness now forever denied him. Somehow, he held firm and didn't turn.  
  
"I live indefinitely Methos. Or so it seemed to me then… the adoration of villagers who would die in the blink of an eye to me was nothing. Not compared to someone I could love forever. You did it for something I would have given up, had you asked me." She was moving up behind him then, so close he thought she might touch him. "I stayed with them only because they needed someone, but I needed to, needed for you to love me. The only other Immortal I knew to exist… I thought you'd be the last to come into existence…"  
  
Methos couldn't help it; he turned and looked down at her. Down he realized on a small woman with a plain but unearthly round face and the deepest of brown eyes. She really was diminutive, and it was quite possible, if he hadn't ignored it, that she might have had the chance to be small, to be diminutive in her lifetime, if only to him. His mind drifted back easily to a time when he had held her to him and not felt any fear of her.  
  
  
  
Five Thousand Years Ago  
  
Methos lay at ease in a bed made largely of bear firs, pelts of animals that no longer exist. He was dressed in a leather tunic and soft leather pants that fit him loosely. Newly arisen an Immortal, suddenly given into this woman's care to learn their ways.  
  
She entered the heavily draped doorway letting the skins fall back into place keeping out the bitter chill of a newly settled winter. Her hair fell in heavy and thick waves of ebony down her back, it shone in the light of the fire.  
  
"Love," he smiled at her openly, he had not yet learned to lie.  
  
"Love," she answered him easily.  
  
Crawling contentedly onto the bed platform she fit her self closely against his side and rested her head against his chest. His long arms went about her shoulders on instinct and he held her tightly against him. The picture of them together was picturesque. An old love, uncluttered by culture, uncertainty or fear. There was no marriage, only the profession of love. No expectation other than it is honest.  
  
No one knew what her first name had been, but when she came to the village the name she gave them was beyond their ability to pronounce, so she began calling herself Gwendolyn, possibly a bastardization of her real name?  
  
Outside in the world there was nothing she bowed too. She carried around with her a kind of knowing that the people feared and revered at the same time. Her small stature detracted nothing from her power of them, her suggestions were done and he judgments on points of law were final. Inside her tent however, her diminutive stature was very real. Inside the tent she shared with Methos she allowed herself to be fragile and soft and all the things women are meant to be.  
  
The same could be said for being in his arms, even outside and in front of the villagers, she showed no hesitation to sink into his embrace and openly acknowledge his ideas and opinions. Her world was neatly divided into the things that she loved; half her love lived in the village with the people who needed her. The other half rested squarely in the chest of the only other Immortal she had found in over a thousand years.  
  
  
  
1 Now  
  
"Gwen…" he started, his hands moving out, itching to pull her to him, to be forgiven, erase his biggest regret.  
  
She took a step back and shook her head. It couldn't be that easy. After all this time, the pain at first may have been forgivable, but like many unpleasant things, it festers with time. Now, almost five thousand years later, it was something harbored, something that was so much a part of who she was that it couldn't be forgiven. For thousands of years that mistrust and pain had shaped who and what she was, and now she was meant to give it up, Simply because he had the gall to ask for forgiveness? No, no matter how much she might want to, she wouldn't give in.  
  
"Don't touch me Methos, don't even dream about laying your hands of me ever again." There was contempt in her voice that stung even more than the words.  
  
If it had been a hollow repetition of a practiced phrase Methos could have moved through it. Worked up his courage and taken her into his arms anyway. That was probably all that was needed to break her stout resolve. But Gwendolyn was a great actress, a formidable warrior and too much a woman to allow that. Her performance was above reproach.  
  
"You should go back to MacLeod. He'll be going nuts." Methos managed without sounding Broken. He could act too.  
  
"The man is insufferable!" she burst out, "He treats me like a child!"  
  
"You look like a child to him… you're pretending to be one. Don't blame him that you're a good actress." Even saying the words from his own mouth Methos had no idea how good.  
  
Gwen took the rebuke without batting an eyelid. He was right of course; Duncan was acting as he would act if she were a newly woken Immortal fresh from her first death. A real father figure.  
  
She pulled her heavy leather coat around her tighter and walked past Methos without answering, without a backward glance. Methos noticed again the way she unerringly managed to make him feel completely worthless. What was it she'd said? "Of course not Methos, that would imply your worth something". He had little doubt that she meant it. No one could forget things like Gwen could, no one knew the art of sealing things out of the heart as well.  
  
He didn't bother following her back to the Do Jo there was really no point. He wouldn't get anything from her but the same callous dismissal and he didn't think his ego could take anymore of that. After all this time, he'd thought he didn't have an ego; that he was beyond guilt. Turned out he wasn't quite so blessed. 


End file.
